Dust to Dust Page 7

  He turned around and started walking quickly—not running, because that would have drawn attention—just walking with long strides down Sunset, where he could disappear into a crowd before doubling back to get home.

  Then, just as he reached the crowd, he saw her.

  The tall blond beauty with the Jackie Chan soul.

  She saw him, too.

  Their eyes met. Hers were huge and beautiful—and questioning. And he saw something in them that he hadn’t seen the night before. A trace of…dread.

  His fists clenched at his sides, and he wanted to scream.

  Who are you?

  But then he heard a shout from the crowd. “There he is! That’s the guy who stopped the gas from exploding!”

  A hazmat crew was coming around the corner, and sirens were blaring again. He whirled and saw that the tall man with the hazel eyes was moving aside as fire-suited workers moved in to take his place. He seemed intent on getting away from them as quickly as possible, too.

  When Scott turned back, the blond beauty was gone, and people were pointing at him. He ran this time, hurrying down the street and plunging around a corner as fast as he could, hurrying for his own place.

  Bursting into his townhouse he was startled by the sound of a voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are strong, we are survivors, and so is tonight’s movie. It’s a Marx Brothers classic, and it will be playing as planned at the Hollywood Forever Cemetery tonight, so get there early, bring your blankets, your coolers and your best foot forward.”

  Scott laughed and leaned against his door. The radio had been on, and now the electricity was back on. What irony that the first thing he heard was an ad for a film screening on the wall of the mausoleum at the very cemetery where he and the mystery blonde had saved the other woman.

  He walked on into the bathroom, where he washed his dirtied and bloodied hands, rinsed them with peroxide, and then wrapped them with gauze, hoping they wouldn’t bleed through.

  After that, he went over to his computer, glad that it was back up, and started to study sites on modern and ancient Rome. When his phone rang, he answered it absently. “Hello?”

  “Scott!” To his surprise, he heard Zach’s voice on the other end.

  Zach. Once his best friend, now someone from another life. It seemed such a strange interruption. As if a filmed showing of The Wolfman had been replaced with Heidi.

  “Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” he asked, forcing himself to sound casual and friendly.

  His eyes were still on the computer screen, though. There were two churches just outside Rome that dated back to the early centuries of Christianity. He clicked on a link, waiting for Zach’s reply.

  “I’m in town—just came in,” Zach told him.

  “You’re kidding—most people put off a trip when there’s been an earthquake,” Scott said.

  The link gave him nothing but another link. He followed it.

  It led to a blog. Someone had made a trip to Rome and strayed from the usual tourist regimen to view one of the ancient churches. He’d found it fascinating, one of the most interesting places the man, identified only as 20Roma12, had visited. The description said that the church had been built in circular fashion but with twelve separate alcoves, each with an altar. Each alcove had a mosaic—some of the tiles fading, others chipping—portraying the torture and death of a particular saint.

  “Well?” Zach asked.

  Scott winced. He hadn’t heard a word his friend had said.

  “Sorry, bad connection,” he lied. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I think I’m in love.”

  “That’s great. But why are you here?” Scott asked.

  “She lives in L.A. I met her while we were all here—you must remember her. Or maybe you don’t. I guess the only thing we all remember for sure is the alley.”

  No matter what the hell I do, I can’t forget the alley, Scott thought.

  “We were barhopping. We met a lot of girls,” Scott reminded him.

  “Yeah, well, it turned out this one, Suki, was on that dating site I’m on. And I didn’t tell her who I was—I mean, that we’d already met—online. I guess she thought I lived out here. Anyway, I e-mailed her last night as my online self, asking if she was all right, and she was talking about going to some weird movie in a cemetery thing they do out there. So I hopped the first possible flight, and here I am. Thing is, I can’t find any info on this movie thing—it isn’t in the guide book I have.”

  “Um, yeah, I just heard an ad saying they still plan on doing it tonight,” Scott responded absently. He was half listening and half reading.

  It was one of the most unusual places I have ever seen, and I have traveled widely over many years. It seemed to me as if I’d walked into a different dimension; it felt as if the walls were alive, as if they were haunted by hundreds of years of souls. I was humbled and yet comforted, as if I had found a sanctuary. And as I stood there, I also felt as if I were waiting…for what, I don’t know. In that church, I felt suddenly as if there were a great purpose to my existence.

  “Scott, are you there?” Zack asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I’m here. But, I’m leaving tomorrow,” Scott said. “I’m going to…a design show in Rome,” he lied.

  “Oh. Well, would you do me a favor tonight, though?”

  Inwardly, Scott groaned. But he should be glad that Zach had called him; it gave him an opportunity to reconnect with the life he had once known, at least in some form.

  “What?”

  “Go to that show with me tonight, would you? Like we’re just going to see it, and then I can ‘happen’ to run into her. I’ll pack for you, I’ll sweep up glass at the shop, whatever,” Zack said.

  “I’m already packed, and the shop is fine. But, yeah, sure, I’ll take you to the cemetery. Why not?” Scott replied. “Where are you? I’ll pick you up at six—the line starts forming around then.”

  He got Zach’s info, hung up and finished the last of the blog.

  I have never felt such a sense of the spiritual; if there is a link between the past and the present, the dead and the living, this is it. The church stands near the catacombs, and it’s as if the dead speak in the whisper of the wind, uttering a prophecy in a tone of foreboding—an oracle, if you will.

  4

  “That was him!” Melanie told Lucien. “The man I told you about. First he shows up to stop robbery, rape and murder—and now he stops a gas explosion. Lucien, do you know him? Is he one of us?” She wasn’t accustomed to being afraid, and she told herself she wasn’t afraid now, but she knew she was lying. Because after all the awful things she had faced in the past, now she was afraid. Why? The man didn’t seem to represent a threat of any kind, and he certainly wasn’t perpetrating any evil.

  She and Lucien hadn’t headed back to the restaurant; they were hurrying toward her apartment instead.

  “No,” Lucien said at last. He was staring ahead, and when he spoke, he sounded very deliberate. “No, he is not one of us.”

  “Who is he, then? What is he?” she demanded, hurrying to keep pace with his long strides. Lucien always knew. He could see through to anyone’s soul, and he could sense what good—or evil—lurked within any man or woman. And he always recognized their own kind.

  “Lucien!” she pleaded.

  He slowed his pace, looking back.

  “He is definitely not one of us,” he said with certainty.

  “Then…what?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “But you saw him! That kind strength isn’t normal. And he was in pain. You could see he could barely stand it, but he stayed.”

  “Precisely.” They had reached the steps to her building. He paused with a foot on the first step and placed a hand on her shoulder. “That blast could have taken out an entire block. It could have killed dozens of people. I admit, I’ve never seen anything like it before, but whatever he is, he’s here to protect humanity. You don’t need to be frightened.” />
  “I’m not frightened of him,” she insisted.

  Lucien arched a brow and offered her a slow, questioning smile.

  “I’m not, really. As you said, he seems…well, good, for lack of a better description. What I’m afraid of is…why? Why has he suddenly appeared, just when I’ve suddenly…”

  “Become an artist?” Lucien asked.

  She nodded.

  He was silent for several minutes. She knew him well, and she could see that something was definitely disturbing him. “I don’t know—what the connection is. We’ll have to work on that, won’t we? Let’s go in and call Maggie and Sean. They might have heard something on the news and be worried about us.”

  “Oh, no. Do you think a news crew—”

  “I didn’t see one, but you can be sure they’re on site by now,” Lucien told her. “Come inside. We’ll discuss it when the others get here.”

  She stopped again, staring at him. “Lucien, you came here…because of a dream. Maggie said Jade told her.”

  “Great. You three talk too much,” Lucien said. “Let’s get back to your mysterious stranger.”

  “Lucien, are you sure you don’t know anything about him? You haven’t seen him before?”

  “In the flesh? No.”

  “You’ve seen a picture of him?” she asked, startled.

  “No.”

  “Then…?”

  “I saw him…in a dream.”

  “In a dream?”

  “Can we go in, please?” Lucien said firmly.

  They were finally about to enter the apartment when Blake Reynaldo rounded the corner with Bruno. “Hey, folks. How are you doing after that last trembler?” He frowned, seeing Melanie’s face. “Is everything all right?”

  She quickly smiled. “Fine, Blake. How about you?”

  He grimaced. “I’m handing out fliers. For your friend—Judy.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “You should come. We’re trying to get the community out.”

  Melanie glanced at the notice he’d handed her. It was a flier suggesting that everyone should come to the movie at the cemetery that night, show their true California style and take a breather after the stress of the quake.

  “I knew I could count on you to support the community,” Melanie said, and this time her smile was for real.

  He smiled back. “So come on. Bring your pals. Hey, I tell you what, don’t worry about anything. I’ll bring the blankets and the cooler. You just bring your friends and show up.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—” Melanie began.

  “We’ll be there,” Lucien said.

  She stared at him, and Lucien grinned. “Why not? It will bring the neighbors out.”

  She tried to keep her voice pleasant. “Do you know how many people live in Los Angeles?” she asked him.

  “Millions,” Blake answered helpfully. “But this is pretty much a local thing. It’s really a lot of fun.”

  “I take it Judy is going?” Melanie asked.

  For a big old-time cop, Blake Reynaldo sure could blush. “I told you, she’s the one who asked me to hand out the fliers.”

  “We’ll see you there, then,” Lucien said, then stooped to pat Bruno, who wagged his tail.

  “Okay. I’ll look for you around six. I’ll be in line by then. If I miss you there, I’ll claim a piece of grass up close to the ‘screen,’” Blake assured them. “Just make sure you’re there by seven, okay?”

  “We’ll be there,” Lucien promised.

  Blake smiled, said goodbye and walked away to hand out more fliers.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Melanie asked the minute Blake was out of earshot. “I don’t want to go to a movie. I want to have a drink—a big, tall alcoholic drink—and pretend I don’t draw things like earthquakes before they happen. Or convince myself that it’s some kid of a fluke, or—”

  “Come on in and I’ll explain.”

  “You’re back!” Maggie cried, as soon as Melanie opened the door. Behind her stood Sean Canady, her husband, tall, graying a bit now and yet better looking with each year that passed.

  Melanie smiled at Maggie and stepped past her to give Sean a warm hug. In New Orleans, the Alliance numbered at least twenty people now, but it couldn’t have existed without Maggie, Sean and Lucien, and she was so glad that they were all right there with her now.

  “Hey, Munchkin,” Sean said. He insisted on calling her by that name, even though she was tall. He’d once said that she looked like a fairy—just a tall one—and a nickname had been born.

  “Hey, you,” she said huskily, and drew back.

  “Where’s the refrigerator, Mel?” Lucien asked. “I’m parched.”

  “In the kitchen—where people usually keep refrigerators,” she told him.

  “It’s stocked?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she assured him.

  “Lucien,” Maggie called to him, “it’s a good thing your back was toward the first camera on the scene. We saw what happened on the breaking news, but luckily they didn’t start filming until just as you were walking away.”

  “I figured the cameras would come,” Lucien said, walking back into the room with a glass of cherry soda.

  “Looks like you averted a disaster,” Sean commented.

  “Not me, the guy before me,” Lucien said lightly. “Melanie, where’s your computer?”

  “Over there,” Maggie said, answering for Melanie. “I have it up and running. I’ve been searching on ‘ghost drawings.’”

  “I do not have a ghost drawing through me,” Melanie protested indignantly, staring at Lucien, who seemed to have forgotten the bombshell he had dropped on her. He had drained the bottle of soda and kept his own attention riveted to the computer.

  “Lucien knows the mystery man from last night,” Melanie said to Maggie.

  “I do not know him,” Lucien said.

  “Excuse me. He saw him in a dream,” Melanie corrected.

  “Oh?” Maggie said inquiringly.

  Sean groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

  “I don’t think Melanie’s drawings have anything to do with a ghost,” Lucien said, as if none of the rest of the conversation had taken place. “Melanie, when is your birthday?”

  She was startled. “Excuse me? You already know how old I am.”

  “The day. It’s in August, isn’t it?”

  She knitted her brows, wondering what on earth he was getting at. “Yes, it’s August thirtieth.”

  “Virgo,” Lucien said. “One of the earth signs.”

  “What, are you buying me a present with a birthstone?” she asked with a lightness she didn’t feel.

  “When I went to help him, your mystery man asked me if I was earth,” Lucien explained. “Earth—not air, water or fire.”

  Melanie sighed. “Okay, he’s super-strong and has a thing for the zodiac. Where on earth does that get us?” she demanded. “Um, no pun intended.”

  “Look around, will you?” Sean suggested.

  Melanie winced. She had a flair for the dramatic and maybe even a retro taste when it came to décor. She’d done her ceiling in cobalt-blue, and a friend had painted the night stars for her—all the constellations that made up the zodiac. With the lights on, it was restful, but with the lights off, the glow-in-the-dark paint made the sky appear real. Despite that, the zodiac was just something that she enjoyed thinking about, not a passion. She also had a Celtic cross on one wall, and a large tapestry depicting the Lady of the Lake in her bedroom. She liked being surrounded by things she enjoyed, and she enjoyed the hard sciences, like astronomy, just as she loved old tales of the Druids and fairy tales like “Sleeping Beauty.” Her ceiling was simply part of her love for all things intriguing and whimsical.

  “I decorated the ceiling three years ago,” she said stubbornly.

  “My point is, whether we believe in signs or not, even the most ardent skeptic gets a kick out of reading his horoscope now and then,” Lucien said.

  “Fine. Now what
’s the story with the dream?” Maggie demanded.

  Lucien winced, paused with his fingers on the keyboard and then swung around, staring at them all. “Okay, I’ve been having the same dream for months now. I’m deep in the earth, walking through a catacomb.” He was quiet for a minute. “I’m heading for a light in the center—and somehow I know I’m in one of twelve corridors that lead to it. I can see someone there, but not who it is.”

  “The mystery man?” Sean asked.

  Lucien shook his head. “No. I only saw Melanie’s mystery crime fighter once, the first time I had the dream. He seemed so real, as if we were having the dream together and were both focused on finding that light and the person standing in it.”

  “Going to the light is…usually associated with near-death experiences,” Maggie said nervously.

  Lucien managed a smile. “Not in this case. There’s a cloaked figure standing in the light. I try to see who it is, to reach it, but I haven’t gotten there yet. The last time I had the dream, a skeleton rose up and pointed at me and said, ‘Thou shalt beget kings, tho’ be none.’”

  “What?” Maggie said.

  “I have no idea what it means,” Lucien admitted.

  “Maybe I do,” Sean said. “Think about it metaphorically. Maybe it means that you’re the…catalyst, the connection, the messenger. You’ll show the way.”

  They were all silent. Lucien studied him, then smiled slowly. “No wonder you’re a good cop. Maybe that’s exactly what it means. Anyway, there was an earthquake in my dream, and I woke up and knew there had been a quake somewhere…and it was here. As is this man.”

  “Back to the computer,” Sean suggested.

  Melanie watched as Maggie and Sean flanked Lucien’s shoulders. “Hey, there’s an interesting article,” Maggie said, pointing. She read aloud, “‘Is the world really small these days? Or has it always been? Greek and Roman gods, goddesses and astrology in relation to the Mayan doomsday prophecy.’”

  “Try the link,” Sean suggested.